Nihil Verum Nisil Mors
by Jidt
Summary: Sometimes, the Apple decides when its Masters are allowed to leave it. For some, it will be a long time. But really, what else would an Assassin do with immortality but continue doing their job? (Up to AC-Revelations, No AC3; No Slash, or Yaoi, or any pairings of any sort. Not a romance.)
1. Awakening

_Nihil Verum Nisil Mors_

"Nothing is true but death."

But for some, even that is an illusion.

Ezio Auditore de Firenze came to know this firsthand in Altaïr's Library. He had seen so much in his life, like gods and mind-bending pieces of silver, but as he sealed away the Piece of Eden for this 'Desmond' to find and turned to leave it to the ages, he came face to face with something he immediately put down as an effect of stress and old age.

The skeleton of the man, the Master, whose trials he'd lived through personally via the 'Keys', of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad... was gone. In its place was a young man, no older than about twenty-six. He looked quite unconscious, but Ezio could, to his surprise, recognize the scarred lips, the light tan complexion, and the muscularly-lean figure under the ancient cloak of the Master. The young form of a man who looked exactly like the one he had witnessed disarming dozens of trained assassins bare-handed, while injured. The man who had rescued the Order and brought it into a new age, not only once, but again when it had been brought back into ruin.

The figure twitched and groaned, and Ezio jumped back in shock. There had to be a more reasonable explanation than the one waking up in front of his eyes. Maybe a Templar somehow snuck in while he was examining the Apple… and also had time to strip a skeleton, put on the complicated outfit flawlessly, and hide the bones. Ezio shook off that thought immediately, a little embarrassed that he'd even considered it in the first place. If that was really the only viable explanation he could come up with that DIDN'T have an ancient assassin suddenly resurrecting… then maybe it was time to consider some that did.  
The man was slowly waking up, and Ezio was running out of time to figure out what he was going to do. The Italian instead took to pacing in front of the former-skeleton, muttering nonsense to himself and trying to make sense of what was happening. There HAD been a skeleton in the room when he'd entered it. He had knelt before it and moved the bony hand to retrieve the disk. He had watched as a bystander in a memory as the ancient Master sealed himself in the 'Library' and finally let go of his hold on life.

Another groan sounded, and Ezio looked over at the man… straight at his golden eyes. The man's short, light brown hair shuddered slightly as he shook himself awake, and he looked straight at the Italian Mentore.

_"Mn ant?" _The man's scarred lips barely moved, but the tone promised a violent reaction to any negative answer. Of course, Ezio didn't even know what the question had been…

"Umm… I'm sorry, I don't understand you."

The man's eyes narrowed.

_"Alaytalyh?"_

"Again, I do not understand you."

The man frowned, but nodded.

"It has been very _twyl_ since I spoke this language. _Aghfr ly. _Who are you?" He spoke, and Ezio was surprised to hear very little trace of an accent in his near-perfect Italian. Save for a couple words, you would think it his native language. The Italian then caught up with what he had been asked and inclined his head awkwardly.

"I am Ezio Auditore da Firenze. What may I call you?"

The man stared down at Ezio's strained attempt at respect, then placed his left hand over his chest. The other's eyes were immediately drawn to the missing ring finger.

"Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, Flying Eagle of Masyaf, Master of the Levantine Assassins. Now, I would advise you to explain exactly what is going on, before I kill you."

"And when I turned around, your – uh… the skeleton had been replaced by yourself. And that's pretty much the entire story."

Altaïr nodded distractedly, scowling heavily. Ezio had talked quickly, spinning a tale that made the Syrian want to either cut the other man's throat, or run from the room and see for himself what had become of the fortress he'd once called home. Instead, he'd taken a deep breath and listened patiently to Ezio's story. Several times he had caught himself flexing his arms, or contorting his hands, and the truth of the other's story hit him full force. It had been years ago that he'd had the muscles to flex as he was now, and longer still since he'd been able to move his fingers such without the creaking pain of old bones making him wince.

It amazed him to be talked about with such awe and reverence, as the Italian Assassin was. He had always considered himself one to be forgotten by history, and had resigned himself to still do all he could to make the future that would forget him a good one. Instead, he listened to the man's story of retrieving his Codex pages, of the statue in his image that held sanctuary to the ages, and of his journey to find the 'keys'. He listened to the immortal figure history had made him up to be, and Ezio's realization that the Master of Masyaf himself was still just a man.

Ezio sat back as Altaïr absorbed his story with a calm expression, still in quiet awe to be in the legend's presence. He knew without a doubt that the man sitting before him was indeed the Altaïr of legends, his 'sixth sense' he'd been able to employ as long as he could remember vouched for his intentions as an ally, at the very least. The bright bluish-white of his glow marked his as such, and as one possessing information vital to Ezio. This was not surprising, considering everything the ancient Assassin knew of the art that Ezio remained ignorant to.

Ezio looked up slightly startled, as Altaïr stood quietly, and the Italian mirrored his movements. Altaïr looked at him sharply, but said nothing. Instead, he turned, and walked to the rear of the room. Ezio followed, but stayed far behind the other. Altaïr ran his hand over the stone wall that hid the Apple, and activated the hidden panel, letting the golden glow spill out as the doors slid open. The Apple sat thrumming quietly on the pedestal as Altaïr inspected the Hidden Blade Ezio had lain there barely an hour earlier, but said nothing of it. Instead, he placed his right hand over the Artifact, and closed his eyes.

Barely a second passed before his expression became one of horrified shock, eyes flying open as he fell back. The Apple's glow faded, leaving the shadowed darkness of before. Altaïr looked down at his hands, expression loosening only a little, as Ezio started forward to check on the seemingly-young man. He placed a hand tentatively on the other's shoulder.

"What did you see?" He asked quietly, when he got no response from the contact. The Syrian shook his head.

"_L'enh, aw n'emh, a'etmada 'ela kyfyh wahd ynzr alyha. abl ... hdh qt'eh mn 'edn ... ana ... la astty'e ... dlk ... la ..."_ He trailed off, sorrow bleeding into his expression. Ezio knelt by the man.

"Please, what did you see? What did it tell you?"

Golded eyes met his.

"It won't let me... It's chosen me, and keeps me here. Without its master, it is nothing, so I remain. I cannot be free." Pale hands grabbed at Ezio's shirt.

Ezio shook his head, eyes wide.

"I still do not…"

"I will not die!" Altaïr shouted, and pounded a fist on the stone ground. He gasped, and took a few deep breaths, attempting to regain the composure he'd just lost in front of a stranger.

Ezio looked away, ignoring the other man's desperate breaths… and the tears he knew to be there.

"I will wait outside the room. We have much to discuss, but it will wait." Ezio whispered, barely loud enough to be heard, and walked away from the Master everyone idolized without knowing… who was really just a man. One who had just lost everything he loved, and gained everything else in return.

Ezio had felt pain like that once before, but he had overcome it with vengeance, and had gained so much in return. But to loose everything to time itself, be forbidden the eternal rest that had been forbidden the legend… pain such as that was far beyond any imagination of mere mortals.

Sofia waited outside the Library doors, and when they opened to allow Ezio's exit, she threw herself around his neck, pressing her head into his chest. He returned the embrace.

"I was worried when the door shut after you. I didn't know if they'd open again!" She admitted eventually, after pulling herself from the desperate clinging she had been doing. He smiled at her.

"You should know it would take more than unbreakable doors for me to return to you." She smiled back.

"But of course. How silly of me." They shared a quick kiss, but then the doors to the Library, which had swung shut behind Ezio, creaked open again. Sofia jumped, and Ezio grimaced.

"I had hoped you would take a bit longer." He called, stepping in front of Sofia, who looked around him curiously.

"Grief is best saved for a time where no one depends on he who would grieve. Forgive me, my actions back there were..." Ezio held up a hand to stop him.

"No, you need not excuse yourself. To not react would be inhuman, though I will admit my shock to your quick recovery."

Altaïr shook his head.

"I do not know how it is now, but I and those around me were trained to control our emotions, to not let them interfere with our… work." He explained, looking quizzically at Sofia as he spoke. Ezio looked between the two, twisting his neck awkwardly, soliciting a couple pops as it protested. He ignored it.

"Ah, Sofia. You'll never guess who I found." Altaïr bowed his head and started to introduce himself, but Ezio cut him off.

"Apparently this poor lad found a secret passage into the Library a few days ago. The tunnel collapsed behind him, and he was stuck. I'm glad I was able to open the door here!" He said, quickly and loudly, with a meaningful look at the Syrian.

Altaïr's eyebrow quirked, but he decided to play along. He kept his head bowed, and turned to Sofia.

"I am Paxaro Voando. You and your companion have my thanks for… rescuing me." He gave Ezio a curious look, and the Italian tilted his head in a barely-perceivable nod. Sofia immediately overcame her shyness and hustled over to Altaïr.

"Oh my poor dear!" She said, and Altaïr suppressed a small smirk. He supposed he did look quite younger than the two… But then the woman embraced him, and he froze. It was literally taking all of his willpower to resist a life-time's worth of training and instincts to keep from stepping back and releasing his hidden blade, and Ezio noticed the other man's inner battle. Quickly stepping up and gently easing Sofia off the Syrian Assassin, he placed himself in between the two.

"Sofia, this poor man hasn't eaten in days. Will you go get the packs from the horses? I'll stay with him and make sure he's okay." She nodded frantically, and all-but ran up the steps to retrieve food for the supposedly starving explorer.

The two assassins exchanged looks as Sofia hurried away; Ezio wore one of humor and unapologetic exasperation, while Altaïr mainly looked confused, but wore a look that demanded (and fully expected) an explanation beneath. Ezio shrugged. The look of confusion turned into a glare.

"She doesn't quite know the… entirety of my – our profession." He admitted, and the Syrian's glare gained a modicum of surprise. But as he spoke, that surprise was replaced by something much worse.

"You would bring one, a woman no less, ignorant of our ways to Masyaf? To the Library? To the Apple?!"

Ezio grimaced, but the Grandmaster didn't let up. Later, Altaïr would admit his emotions were a little high strung, and he had lost a little control, but he would stand by what he said as he paced in front of the Italian.

"Has the Order fallen so far? Has the Creed been forgotten? And you," He whirled on Ezio. "The supposed 'Mentore of the Assassinos'… what reason has infested your mind to make you think yourself exempt from the rules that make you what you are?"

Ezio cringed. He hadn't even really given the Creed any thought when he decided to let Sofia come with him, especially since he still fully intended to 'retire' as best he could when he returned to Italia. But Altaïr's accusations, while deserved, still stung his ever-inflated ego. He all but puffed up indignantly.

"I don't think that this one incident gives you the right to criticize my leadership. We've barely known each other for an hour!"

"…"

Ezio bit his lip at the other's silence, slightly regretting his sudden outburst. As skilled as he considered himself to be, the man before had a literal life-time's experience on him… not to mention the fact that he was technically back in his prime of life.

Altaïr glared at the Italian, who was just noticing the couple of inches the ancient had on him, but instead of reacting like Ezio expected him to (violently), he closed his eyes and inclined his head.

"You are correct. That was unfounded." Ezio's jaw nearly dropped. "However, I leave it to you to explain this situation to your woman. I will play along with this identity you've deemed necessary, for now, but when we meet the others of the Order,"

Ezio, who was obviously full of bright ideas that day, cut him off with a raised hand, internally cringing at the prospect of trying to explain his true profession to Sofia.

"That, my friend, should wait. It will take at least a month to return to Italia, and this is the first I've heard of you accompanying us."

Altaïr's lips twitched.

"You should've expected it. I'm curious to see what you have done with my Brotherhood, and I apparently need to find new hiding places for these." He held up the bag he had 'borrowed' from Ezio, who looked at it in shock, checking his belt. The Syrian shook it, and the Masyaf keys inside clinked together.

Footsteps behind them told of Sofia's return, and Altaïr tied the pouch to his own belt before smirking lightly at Ezio and raising his voice.

"I feel as it I haven't eaten in centuries! Thank you!" He called, and that's when Ezio discovered the ancient Grandmaster of the Assassins had an ironic sense of humor.

The 'meal', which consisted of stale bread, cheeses, and dried meats of some sort, was fast and interesting. Ezio and Sofia ate slowly and sparingly, while Altaïr, having never tasted such exotic flavors, ate cautiously at first, but then warmed up to the taste and ate like the starving explorer he was claiming to be.

After they'd eaten, and Ezio had remarked dryly that they'd need to restock some supplies soon, Altaïr had excused himself from the meal, claiming to need something he'd left in a hallway somewhere. Neither of the Italians noticed one of the nearly-empty ration satchels disappear along with the Syrian.

The Grandmaster took his time returning to the underground, and stopped at the wall next to the re-sealed doors of the Library. He rubbed his hands along the smooth stone, goosebumps appearing on his arms as the cold made his hands tingle. He pressed down when his thumbs crossed a small indent in the wall, and with a strained rumble, the wall slid aside to allow the Assassin entrance into secret room it had hidden from the Templar raiders.

Inside, piles upon piles of currency from around the world lay in ancient pouches, which still shined dully with the wax they had been sealed with against the ravages of time. Dust had settled in a tangible layer over everything, but the room was closed to any insect or rodent invaders, leaving time the only enemy. Across the room, sheets of protective cloth covered thick bookshelves, their vellum* inhabitants safe from the dust that coated everything else. The ink-stained calf-skin was unique to this room, or had been when he'd stocked it, mainly because it was, as far as he knew, the first of its kind. 'Altaïr' had invented it, (read as: Altaïr was shown the idea by the Apple, and Malik had jumped on it immediately.)

Altaïr gently lifted the cloth, ignoring the shower of dust the movement released, and removed a twin set of thick tombs. The illustrated originals of The History of the Assassins, hand-written by Malik Al-Sayf, were placed gently in the satchel hanging loosely at the ancient's side, and were tucked under the protective silk that had once housed a loaf of bread. Replacing the sheet gently, he then went over to the piles of funds, and filled the rest of the space with a plethora of coin bags, mostly basic gold and silver coins that could easily be sold for whatever currency was needed. As it was, the now-ancient coins that occupied Masyaf's treasury were all probably out-of-date, but worth much more than they used to be.  
When he had collected what he deemed to be a small fortune by ancient standards, he padded the bag with a few empty pouches to muffle the inevitable clinking that came with carrying around money, and turned to leave. He gave one last respectful glance at the covered remainder of his oldest friend's work, and re-sealed the treasury. It would be a while before he returned again, but he would.

Altaïr returned to a bitterly-silent Sofia, and a despondent Ezio. Wisely, the Syrian didn't comment on the expected outcome of Ezio's confession, but instead shouldered the half-empty lunch pack opposite the filled satchel he was already wearing, and began the walk up to the light he hadn't seen in centuries.

The journey from the fortress to the village of Masyaf was full of stuttered walking and cautious glances. Ezio kept looking at Altaïr, half-expecting the Syrian to either break down, or run, when he walked through the ruins of his home. His fears turned out unfounded as the Assassin stubbornly ignored the rotting wood, the crumbling stone, and the suspicious looks of those who remained of the previous Templar occupation.

The troop stopped at a rather dilapidated stall to buy some overpriced supplies, and Altaïr traded a couple of silver pieces for a handful of the gold coins apparently used in the 'modern-day' Middle East, and bought a new bag, this one made of a thick canvas with multiple pockets and a leather 'shell'. He discreetly transferred the satchel's contents to the new bag, and returned the now-empty one to Ezio, who filled it with the recently-purchased supplies. The Italian didn't comment on the single bag of coins the Grandmaster had left in the bag, but just traded a knowing look with the other man and nodded his thanks.

They continued through the 'town', eventually reaching the stables the two Italians had left their horses about a day ago. The duo tipped the stable-hand, then set about tacking their horses and attaching their bags to the saddles. Meanwhile Altaïr haggled over the price of an old sway-back mare, the only other horse there. He ended up handing over a trio of his newly-acquired golden coins with a grimace, which was mainly due to the trader's stench more than anything.

As the trio mounted, Altaïr was extremely glad the pack on his back was the extent of his luggage, since the mare's groans and shudders warned him that she couldn't carry anything heavier than her current load for any extent of time.

Making a mental note to find a new mount as soon as possible, the Grandmaster pushed the mare to her fastest speed of a gentle walk, and trudged after the couple, cursing them in at least six languages, and the horse in four others.

They rode for about six hours, Altaïr periodically dismounting to lead the mare for fear she'd collapse from under him. Ezio and Sofia kept their own horses a couple of lengths ahead of the 'stranger's' trading harsh whispers, occasionally looking back at their tag-along. Sofia was arguing his presence altogether, not knowing he could hear them quite clearly.

"But why? He obviously has at least some money, he's free from that Library, and he looks even better armed than you! Why is he still following us?" She whispered, glancing back at Altaïr, who was suddenly rather self-conscious of his blades, actually noting he was missing a couple throwing knives, his short blade, and that the black cloak he was wearing over his normal robes hid his hidden blade from view. He tucked his head deeper into his raised hood as Ezio replied.

"I've talked to him, and we need to keep him close. The things in that room were not meant for most men, and he was in there for three days. No matter how well armed he may be, once news gets out of where he's been and what he's seen, there will be few places he will be safe."

Altaïr's old arrogance reared its ugly head as he seriously doubted any Templar's ability against his own, but his experience stomped it down, preaching humility and acceptance of at least some help. Sofia looked back at the hooded Assassin again, and Altaïr was relieved his robe and outfit were so different from Ezio's own. It wouldn't do to look too similar to other Assassins.

She turned back to Ezio.

"Does he know anything about what you told me?" She whispered, and he shook his head, turning slightly back to Altaïr and winking.

"Are you sure you want to take him… back, even though he doesn't know?" She asked, and Altaïr clenched his jaw against a scoff at the irony of her comment. Ezio had less success, having to cover his chuckle with a cough, earning a suspicious look from Sofia. He 'recovered', and smiled at her.

"It will be fine. When we get there, I'll have Machiavelli or someone have a discussion with him."

Under the shadow of his cowl, Altaïr raised an eyebrow, wondering at the man's apparent delegation of what should have been his own duties. Looking at the relaxed look on the mare, he decided she'd had a long enough break and swung up into the saddle, his bag jingling merrily, to which he winced. As an Assassin, trained in stealth and silence, he had never carried more than enough coin for a couple of sparse meals. So the Sultan's treasure he was currently carrying around was a definite change, and, although necessary, a rather unwelcome one.

Both Sofia and Ezio looked back curiously at the noise, and Altaïr dutifully ignored them. Sofia turned back to Ezio.

"Whatever story he spun for you, I don't believe it. No explorer would be carrying around enough coin to make that much noise, and he's obviously not from around here. He paid quadruple what that nag is worth, and didn't even pay attention to how much he was handing over."

Altaïr pretended to loose his balance and nearly fall off said nag as he cursed colorfully and loudly in his native tongue. When he returned to Masyaf, that accursed trader would pay. And if he wasn't there… well, he didn't get that far.

The mare stopped suddenly, and the sudden cessation of movement startled the Syrian. His right hand suddenly had a trio of throwing knives between its fingers. He looked around to see what had stopped the horse, and relaxed when he saw Sofia had pulled back and grabbed the reins. Ezio was ahead of her, looking back with a worried surprise at the woman's actions.

Altaïr went to return the blades to their proper places, and grasp the reins himself, but his left wrist was grabbed by Sofia's free hand. He froze, clenching against an accidental triggering of his hidden blade, lest he take her hand off at the wrist. Sofia didn't notice the danger, courtesy of the loose sleeves of the robe that covered the blade. Ezio, however, did. The Italian mentor froze, not wanting to startle the Master or his horse, and waited nervously to see what happened.

Altaïr calmly sheathed the small knives, then reached over and gently pried the hand from his wrist. He looked down and re-adjusted his sleeves, before looking back up at Sofia. The woman still held the reins, and was glaring at him. The Grandmaster, however, had seen much more threatening looks, and stood his ground easily. She glared harder at his lack of reaction.

"For an explorer, you seen to know some colorful ancient Arabic."

_Ancient… oh._ Altaïr scowled as he realized his slip.

"Not to mention, the Italian you use is a variation that died out at least a century ago." This time, Ezio grimaced as he realized, again, never to underestimate that woman. He rode over to the two while Altaïr struggled to produce a good excuse. He gently removed Sofia's hand from the mare's reins and took it in his own.

"Sofia, love, please be patient. Yes, there is something different about _Signore _Paxaro, but I promise you all will be explained later. But for now, there are too many ears that could hear us, and some things are too private, even to the sands."

The Italian bookkeeper wrenched her hand away from the Assassin and shot a glare at the shadowed face of the Grandmaster beside her, then urged her horse up to a trot, slowing down to a walk only when she had attained what she deemed a suitable distance from the source of her frustration. Ezio looked at Altaïr with a shrug and a grimace.

"Sorry about her. She's a little… fiery, and it tends to get her into trouble." The Syrian shook his head.

"No need to apologize, she is a smart woman, and I should have expected this problem. I did not realize the language had changed enough to notice so easily." Altaïr replied, not mentioning the reminder of Maria the other woman had given him. Both were smart women who obviously were more dangerous than they first appeared. Ezio chuckled softly.

"No, actually, I don't think that will be much of a problem to anyone other than her. Sofia is an expert in linguistics, and I'm told she's the finest in this hemisphere. I'm sure no one you interact with in Italia except for her will notice anything, and if they do, they'll just assume you learned from a different region, or strange teacher or something." Altaïr nodded, and looked away from the Mentor, gazing over the rocky landscape towards the hazily-jagged obstruction on the horizon that was the 'town' they were headed for.

"That's where we're headed?" He asked, and Ezio nodded.

"The port city of Acre, yes. There, with any luck, we'll get rid of that mare of yours and return both mine and Sofia's own to the stables we loaned them from. We'll resupply, and charter a ship to Venice, then from there head south to Roma and Tiber Island. All in all, A little less than a month to return." Ezio summarized, then rode a little faster, wanting to catch up with Sofia. Altaïr just continued to trudge along on his horse.

When the... procession did finally reach Acre, the first thing Altaïr noticed was the size. The trio had not passed through any large towns or villages on their travels, instead taking the back roads and camping out for privacy and protection. No doubt Templars from elsewhere would be arriving to replace those 'lost' at Masyaf. So when they crested the hill and gained sight of the port city, Altaïr stopped walking (having dismounted earlier at the nag's wheezing groans) and paused to take in the changes. There was more of... everything, it seemed. Houses spanned further, markets bustled, and the sound of the place could be heard even from their distance. Ezio noticed Altaïr's pause and followed the Grandmaster's gaze. He smiled slightly, and shook his head.

"My friend, if this is such a sight to you, perhaps we should leave you here, for fear of Italia overwhelming you!" He laughed, but faltered slightly as Altaïr glared.

"Perhaps I leave you here, and dissappear with the wind, leaving you with little proof against the inevitable accusations of madness." Altaïr continued glaring, but a small smirk quirked his lips, and Ezio chuckled, and followed Sophia down the hill and towards Acre. Altaïr gazed once more upon the city, then nodded and sighed, following the two down to the port city.


	2. A New World

Altaïr decided he had changed his mind. Though Acre was larger, there was little else that had changed from the last he'd been there. The vendors still peddled ever-inflated goods, the beggars still grabbed at him with desperate pleas, and the whole place still smelt of fish and feces. Yanking his robe from a wretch's grip, he threw a gold piece at her feet and walked quickly before the others could make their own desperation known. His own exile ages ago had given him a bit more understanding of the lower dredges of society, but he had at least kept his dignity and worked for his food, no matter the job.

He followed Ezio and Sofia to the docks of the wealthy, where he argued with a stable-hand on the nag's price.

"_I'm sorry, sir, but this'un's only good for pettin' and meat. I'll take her off yer hands, but I can't give ya nothin' for 'er._"

"_Surely there is something you would trade for her, if only a meager bit._" Altaïr growled, daring the youth to argue. The boy swallowed visibly, but nodded slightly.

"_Perhaps a bit of bread and dried meat then, 'nd maybe some advice_."

Altaïr narrowed his eyes, but knew this was the best deal he was going to get.

"_Alright then, take the old thing away, and return with the morsels. I shall wait here._" The boy nodded, and hurried off to bed the nag in the stable. The Grandmaster had sold off the saddle and reins earlier for a fair price, and had kept the lead rope to control the horse.

Ezio looked to the waiting assassin, and smiled.

"Poor thing may end up feeding a family, at least for a bit, so there's that to keep you satisfied, correct?" Altaïr looked sideways at the man.

"What uses she now fulfills is beyond my care. But I suppose for a bit of meat and bread, she'd at least do something helpful. Although I am now questioning how relevant this 'advice' the lad promised is going to prove..."

"Ah, is that was he offered? I didn't quite understand what was going on there, but it seems you aren't too happy with the outcome." Altaïr raised an eyebrow.

"It seems I over-paid for the thing. Enlighten me as to why you let me." Ezio shrugged.

"I was a eager to get away from that stench as anyone sane, and it doesn't seem to me you lack funds." He gestured with his chin to the satchel at Altaïr's waist, still full of ancient gold. Altaïr frowned.

"Just because I carry wealth does not entitle me to spend it recklessly. The rich remain rich by holding onto their gold, not throwing it away carelessly." Ezio blinked, and nodded.

"Makes sense, but of course a little generosity never hurts." Ezio himself had been scattering coins among the beggars like bread, to Altaïr's disapproval.

"For those who are crippled, or sick, yes. These people though," He gestured behind him at the souls on the street. "They refuse to earn their own way. They will take what you give them, and spend it on liquor, or whores, and return having wasted it away, to beg for more."

Even as he spoke, a larger male stumbled from his place along the alley to a near-by supplier, then stumble out not a minute later with a bottle held in a grubby hand, to return to his place and drink heavily. Ezio frowned, having given the drunkard that gold himself. Altaïr shook his head.

"If you wish to help people, those who deserve it, direct your generosity to the places that will provide for them. The churches and such are usually honest in their endeavor to help those who accept it, if only for the enlarging of their masses." Ezio nodded thoughtfully, and Altaïr looked up as the boy returned, a small parcel wrapped in canvas in his hands.

The stable-hand gave the package to Altaïr with a nod, and looked at him, trying to see the eyes under the cowl.

"_My advice, if you'll have it, is this. 'The sands grow restless, with change and with fear. A long sleeping eagle has awoken, and leaves his nest once again. Be wary of the white-clad master, for the Apple no longer rests.'_"

Altaïr blinked, but said nothing.

"_My Grandfather told me that not a day ago. He's a strange'un, and has these visions and fits. Dunno if it means anything, but all else I gots advice-wise is 'bout horses and cleanin' 'em. Except, one more bit, on the 'ouse. You might wanna get a new teacher, the one yous gots now is teachin' ya a weird tounge."_

Altaïr grimaced at this, but sent the boy away with a wave, and stood to look out at the sea. It seemed once again he was part of something larger than himself, but what, he didn't know.

Ezio came to stand beside the Grandmaster, and sighed.

"It'll be good to finally be home. I've been gone a sight too long, and this sand of yours is a hassle to remove from even the most private places." Altaïr smirked, but said nothing. Ezio smiled, obviously proud of himself.

"Was the advice any good?" He asked, and Altaïr's smirk turned a sight more predatory.

"Not so much, but I am anticipating an excited time in Italia,to say the least."

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"Remind me," Ezio groaned as the ground seemed to heave. "to never sail again." The Italian turned his gaze skyward as though begging some higher being for relief, then moaned and held his belly, doubling over and retching. Altaïr looked away, disgusted, and thanked years of training and learning, as well as whatever gift bestowed upon him, that prevented the sea-sickness that troubled the other Assassin. Sofia had already made her own way to the inn's room she had rented, but had banned Ezio from it until he had composed himself accordingly. Altaïr had been 'volunteered' to keep the sick man... company.

"You know, those clams and scallops you devoured so enthusiastically probably did nothing to help your condition." The Grandmaster offered helpfully, earning another groan from the Italian as he remembered the off-color 'seafood'.

"You are a true master, to achieve torture such as this with but a few words." Ezio rasped, breathing heavily, but had apparently emptied his stomach of whatever offended him so. Already the color was beginning to flush in his cheeks. Altaïr shrugged.

"I did warn you against anything caught in a port such as Acre. Hundreds of years have not changed the putrid water those creatures called home." Ezio coughed and gagged a bit, then spit into once-clean kettle, then set it aside. It would be... disposed of, (for a fee) later, and he didn't fancy smelling what had once been food. Altaïr looked on, still revolted, but said nothing, instead standing to retire to his own room. He stopped, however, at a light touch on his leg. He looked down at the recovering Italian.

"Altaïr, I must ask you, what is your plan?" The seemingly-younger Assassin raised an eyebrow. "After you have seen what you desire of the Brotherhood, and done what you deem necessary with us, where will you go, to wait out eternity?"

Altaïr frowned, then leveled a steady gaze on the other.

"I suppose I will stay and teach, and learn... and wait to see if my fate is shared by another."

Ezio contemplated his words for a moment, and Altaïr could see exactly when his words had registered. The Italian stood quickly, hastily reaching to grab the Syrian's arm.

"Do you mean..." He trailed off, unsure of how to phrase his question. Altaïr spared him.  
"The apple did not clarify, but from what I understand, all Apples of Eden have the ability to choose a master, and retain them as long as they see fit. I do not know if the Piece you left would follow that standard, or if it ever accepted you as its Master. For your sake I hope it did not, but it seems I have the time to wait and see for myself, if you'll allow me."

Ezio released Altaïr's arm and sat down quickly, the aged chair he had been occupying groaning a protest of the sudden burden. The Italian ran a hand through his greying hair, then looked at it.

"But, I've aged, I – I've gotten old and will die eventually. How -" Altaïr shook his head.

"I did as well, as you know. I died, and you said yourself time had claimed my body. If I interpreted the Apple's explanation correctly, you will live and die as a mortal, but will 'wake' if disturbed. I assume you would also revert to a" He looked down at himself, and at his non-wrinkled fingers. "Younger stage of life, as I have, but I am unsure."

Ezio looked at his own wrinkling skin, and drew in a shaky breath.

"But, you don't know if it will even happen. If the Apple choose me or not." Altaïr shook his head.

"I do not. Though I must be honest, it does seem more likely than not. However, if you wish it you could be sealed away at death, your tomb unmolested and untouched, with would allow you your rest, hopefully."

Ezio shook his head.

"No, there is no surety in that, even the most secure doors can be opened." He shot a meaningful glance at the Grandmaster, and continued. "If I am to return, I do not want to have to adjust to an entirely new age. I do not react well to change." He said with a half-grin. "Besides, at least there would be someone to talk to, right?"

Altaïr looked down at the Italian, and quirked his own little grin at the man.

"If that does happen, I believe I would be glad for the company."

Though it seemed unlikely at first, a week and a half aboard a small ship had more-or-less forced the two men into camaraderie. Sofia had remained mostly aloof, still unsure of her take of the ancient. Neither Ezio or Altaïr had yet to enlighten her to the elder's state, and it was apparent she had long since dismissed the original story of a lost excavator. She had remained in her cabin for the majority of the trip, leaving Ezio to all but beg the Grandmaster for the spare bunk in his own room.

Altaïr himself had spent most of the trip between cabins, re-learning the changes of the Italian language from Ezio (though as a language teacher his skill was questionable), and discussing history and literature with Sofia in an attempt to both bring his knowledge up to speed, and perhaps shed some of the distrust between them. Sofia had eventually warmed enough to discuss a bit of philosophy with the ancient, but still let him know of her caution, though less obviously as time progressed.

Both Ezio and Altaïr had spent the majority of the time outside of the Syrian's 'lessons' swapping... war stories. Neither brought any 'heavy' material into their tales, instead telling of botched missions, embarrassing mistakes, and old friends getting into trouble. Altaïr admitted freely to wishing to meet this Da Vinci Ezio spoke so highly of, but was disappointed to hear the inventor had passed a few years before. Altaïr's own friends and companions were long-since gone, but telling stories of his and Malik's first attempt at a Leap of Faith (involving a coin toss, lots of pushing, and something about duck feet and pinecones), as well as the little 'discussions' the two had had when confronted with awkward situations, which were solved in a similar way as the question to who would leap first.

Ezio laughed and shared his own stories, which were actually quite similar to the Grandmaster's own, but with a few tales of his more-innocent childhood thrown in. Both men found it beneficial to reminisce of lost friends and family, and Altaïr was eager to meet some of the others Ezio spoke so highly of.

But now, as they sat in the deserted hall of a dirty inn, it seemed late to share fond memories and glad times. Altaïr put a hand on the _Mentore's _shoulder in farewell, and retired to his room. Ezio sighed as the door shut, and looked around him. The darkness in the place seemed less inviting then it had earlier in life, when he had struck and hid in the shadows like they were his. A new age was approaching it seemed, and if fate wished it, it appeared as though time would drag him along with it.

"Ah well." He said quietly to himself. "There is no use worrying now. Let us see where this road leads."

And with that, he went to rinse out his mouth, and ask Sofia to be let back in.

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Altaïr sat by his friend on a stone bench, watching as the withered man looked at his hands. The Grandmaster had long ago stored away the robe and cloak of his station in exchange for a more traditional garb of a regular Assassin. The cowl was pulled up, and no one noticed the man beneath as a relic of history.

"It seems, old friend, that my time is coming, if not later than expected." Ezio said quietly, voice shaking a bit with age. Altaïr smirked.

"Death hasn't wanted to bother with you, it seems. Enough trouble has followed you through the ages that even the afterlife is dreading your company."

Both men laughed, but the aged man coughed a bit before taking a deep breath. Altaïr turned his head to his friend, eyes serious.

"Ezio, do you fear it?" The old man shook his head.

"No, I don't think I do. The uncertainty is something I'm used to, although I will admit that if I do not return I may possibly miss your sense of … humor, though many may call me crazy to do so."

Both laughed again, quieter this time.

"Again I ask, are you sure -" Ezio cut off the Syrian with a hand and a roll of the eyes.

" Altaïr, you ask again and again, and my answer remains. If I am to wake once more, then I wish to wait until those I love have passed, but not a minute more. I do not think I could restrain myself from approaching them, but nor do I wish to remain a relic until ages have passed and the world I know is gone." He looked at the Syrian, breathing short and fast at the effort of his speech, but smiled again.

"Besides, any longer, and you'd get bored, which is never a good thing."

Altaïr returned the smile, but if fell as his friend closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

"It has been a good life though, regardless of the outcome. Now, let's see what comes next." Ezio whispered, then exhaled one last time.

Altaïr closed his own eyes and bowed his head to the deceased man, then stood and ghosted away, standing in the shadows as he watched the man's family gather about him and mourn.

He turned and left through a side-street. He would be back, but first, he had some things to do while he waited.

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_(60 years later, year 1584)_

It seemed time had been kind to his friend's remains, or perhaps they were just taken more care of then when his own body had been left open and vulnerable to time. Either way however, aged corpses were never pleasant. Altaïr covered his mouth with a thick cloth as he removed the tomb's lid and looked down at the body within. Covered in linens and wrapped tightly, only the smell escaped, but it was strong.

"My friend, if you could have but made this smell in life, no foe would stand a chance." He said with a rather morbid humor. He shook out another cloth from his pocket, and looked at it.

"...I have no idea how to do this." He told the cloth, which remained silent. Though he and Ezio had discussed the time and place of the youngster's possible revival, Altaïr now realized he had no idea how the Italian had 'awoken' him in the Library years ago. Arabic curses hissed through the crypt as Altaïr paced, shaking the second cloth frustratedly and breathing heavily through the second.

"How does one go about waking the dead?" He asked the cloth again, then frowned. "It seems my time alone was not as sanity-preserving as I had hoped. Shame." He pocketed the cloth and continued pacing. He stopped next to the tomb once, to take his staff and prod at the body, for any sign of life, but nothing happened. A few more curses followed, and the pacing resumed.

"Always was a no-good, lazy creature. Sleeping past dawn and lazing about doing nothing save eat and talk. Why would I expect you to wake up from a deep a sleep as this? Stupid, old, decrepit, lazy, glutenous-"

"Hey, I resent that. I eat like a normal person, unlike someone, who pecks at his food like a sparrow."

Altaïr paused and looked up. There was no one there, and the body was still unmoving. Blinking, he took out the cloth and looked at it questioningly.

"Gah, can't see a thing, stupid rags, whoever did these feared my return, I suspect."

Altaïr took a deep breath and re-pocketed the cloth, silently thanking whoever cared to listen that the man in said rags was unable to see him and his original suspect.

"Well," He said as he moved to the tomb. "Perhaps if you had refrained from so much wine, you'd be able to get out yourself." He leaned over it and pulled a knife from his sleeve, sliding it lightly across the linens, cutting them precisely.

"I owned a vineyard, I believe I was entitled to my share of the produce." Ezio's voice said as a decidedly younger hand then had once belonged to said voice pushed away the rags. Altaïr leaned over and grasped the hand and pulled, helping the man within to a standing position and letting the rags around him fall.

It seemed the Apple had restored this master much like Altaïr's had him. Ezio couldn't have been more than twenty-five, and Altaïr unsuccessfully tried to cover a laugh at the little tail of hair the Piece had seen fit to restore. Ezio glared happily at the elder of the two, and stepped out of his grave.

He looked down at the pile of cut linens.

"And what will people think when they come upon this then? The dead are rising and walk again?" Both laughed, echoing loudly in the crypt.

"My friend," Altaïr said, putting a hand on Ezio's shoulder. "For better or worse, they are."

Ezio returned the motion, and nodded, grinning.

"Well then, it looks like we have some time to kill."

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_(2 years later, year 1586)_

Ezio quirked an eyebrow as he looked at the modest house. The only dwelling within five miles in any direction, it was well-built, well-kept, and obviously occupied, if not at the moment. The rolling French countryside around if was dotted with purple as the summer flora awoke, and the trees around danced in a warm breeze. The house itself was a quaint thing, two stories and boxy, with fine windows and a lovely door, not to extravagant, but elegant in its simplicity. It was built with river-stone and a dark wood, which looked as though it'd withstand time itself. A large garden lay sprawling behind it, with a barn, stable, and paddock in the distance. The echoes of cows, chickens, and horses sounded faintly over the hills, and the Italian followed the Syrian's lead towards the farm.

"I see you've kept busy. What happened to spending lightly?" He said with a grin, his own mare walking steadily beside Altaïr's own stallion. The Grandmaster shrugged.

"This was nothing much wealth-wise – What I've amassed through the years will more than fund our needs for decades to come, if not more. Besides, owning this much land prevents unwanted guests, wouldn't you say?" He gestured around the valley in a grand style, smirk ever-present. Ezio blinked.

"All this?"

"Five miles in any direction, it is mine. Perhaps I'll sell an acre or two to a poor Italian, if he asks nicely."

Ezio rolled his eyes, and dismounted, leading the mare to the stables as Altaïr did the same and followed.

"It seems," Ezio said as he removed the tack and began brushing down the horse. "That there is quite a bit of work here for just one person. Do you spend all your time gardening and mucking stables?" He asked, humor barely suppressed. Altaïr was unimpressed.

"I have had much time to myself, and having things to do makes eternity pass by a sight quicker than merely waiting and doing nothing. As it was, I usually a few hirelings here to care for most of it, they stay in the house a bit to the west, but with you here now I guess they'll have to find new work, won't they."

Ezio's eyes widened, and he shook his head hurriedly.

"No need to displace honest workers from a job now, is there? Besides, I'm sure there are more... important duties to be attended to, is there not?" He asked hastily, and Altaïr laughed softly.

"It seems your distaste for hard labor is still intact. Come, we'll get something to eat and discuss the activities you missed. Our enemies and those who ally themselves with them have been busy, and your old Brotherhood is changing, though I fear, not for the better." And with that, the Grandmaster calmly unlocked the door, and stepped inside his house, Ezio not far behind.

"So they're at it again." Ezio said calmly, and Altaïr nodded.

"It seems they never cease, though I am unsure of what happened with them during my own... absence. There will always be a waxing and waning of peace and chaos, and it seems the Templars are on the move once again, but it is the West that draws their eye this time. Something is stirring in the frozen countries of the North, and the highlanders there gather, but do not fight as often as they once did. There is talk of a great power uniting them, and though I welcome the peace, I do not trust its source."

"Out of the frying pan, yes? You think death would be the end but yet, here we are, fighting the same fight and the same foe."

Altaïr sighed and looked down at his hands, folded on the table the two were sitting at.

"Would you rather sit and watch? Would you be able to? The Brotherhood you built has crumbled under the oaf who replaced the leader you placed, and despite my efforts, nothing will change until he is … removed from that role. There are multiple individuals who would better serve as Mentor."

Ezio looked at the Grandmaster, eyes wide.

"Altaïr, are you suggesting..."

"I have spent years as a member of your order, rising quietly through the ranks in an effort to change the mess he's made, but unfortunately had to leave before those around me noticed, well, me. Even then, the four years I spent as Grioriani's adviser were wasted on deaf ears and a stubborn head. Nothing can be done to sway his beliefs, and those are unfit for leading the order."

"Maybe, but what right do we have to take the Brotherhood's fate back into our own hands? We lived and died, and did what we could then. But we are relics – can we really kill this man because he's not us?"

Altaïr rubbed his forehead, sighing.

"It has to be done if our Order is to survive. There have been others like this man, and I have dealt with them. This is just another mortal over his head, refusing to admit it."

Ezio swallowed and blinked, then stood and started pacing. The night outside the house had come quickly, bringing a frost and frozen chill with it. The fire built to fend off the cold crackled and popped, dancing in the grate. Ezio paced in front of it, the light cast by the fire casting a long and dark shadow that followed the Italian. Altaïr watched him, making no movements other than the flickering of his eyes back and forth to follow the pacing.

"Do you really think this is the only way?" Ezio asked, pausing in front of the grate, back to Altaïr, who nodded.

"I know it to be so. Or else I would not consider it."

Ezio sighed.

"Then it seems we are going to... where has the order moved to again?"

Altaïr finally stood, and joined Ezio by the fire.

"Roanoke Island, in the New World."

Ezio blinked again.

"Why there? The Order has always stayed with the center of the modern world, has it not?"

"Indeed. This is but the first of many changes Griorani has made to the Order, and one of the least offensive. But for now, we must rest. The horses need it as well – we will leave at dawn."

"To Roanoke?"

Altaïr smirked, and Ezio felt a shiver run down his spine.

"Yes. It's time we had a talk with these Croatoans."


End file.
